


Waterfall

by Adara_Rose



Series: Seashelly Fictober 2018 [23]
Category: Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bathing/Washing, Exhibitionism, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Public Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: When Jefferson stays away for an unusual amount of time, Shelly goes looking for him. And sees a whole lot more than he could ever have imagined... or could he?





	Waterfall

“What’s taking Seaplane so long?” Ruby asked as she looked up from the cooking pot she had going by the fire. “It’s almost dinner time.”

“I’ll go look for him” Shelly offered immediately, feeling his concern for the young man’s absence grow into anxiety. 

Before anyone had any time to protest he was already venturing into the jungle, wondering where he should go first to hopefully find his friend.

Then he remembered that Seaplane had said that he was going to the river to have a quick bath, and headed that way.

 

Finding the river was easy, but finding Seaplane proved harder. It took a while walking up and down the river bank before he spotted a neatly folded shirt and equally neat trousers laid out on a rock.  When Shelly moved closer, he could see the naked form standing in the water, back to the shore. And what a back it was, strong and tanned with muscles rippling under the skin like the water around his hips.

Shelly felt horribly guilty. Seaplane was his friend, and it wasn’t right to stand there and gawk at him like a horny teenager when he was so vulnerable. 

But it was as if something inside was in control, something that wanted more, see more, to bring a bit more substance to the dreams that had plagued him lately. Dreams of strong hands and warm lips and his name spoken in desire.

He had never felt so ashamed in his life.

 

For some unfathomable reason, Shelly backed a few steps, then took a few more to the right, so he could hide behind a rock formation that stood in the perfect spot to watch but not be seen. He wasn’t a voyeur, really, but… well, it’d take a blind man not to see just how beautiful Seaplane really was. And Shelly might have bad eyesight, but he wasn’t blind. 

As he watched, Jefferson picked up a small washcloth from the basket bobbing beside him, dipped it in the water and started to wash. He did it slowly, too, clearly enjoying the act. Bit by bit he worked his way up one tanned arm, towards and over the shoulder, then down over his strong back as far as he could reach. Shelly had to fight the urge to go over and help him.

Then that hand came back up over the shoulder, pausing at the neck, then disappeared down the front. ‘ _ His chest’ _ , Shelly thought dazedly. ’ _ What am I doing?’ _

But he stayed where he was, watching with rapt attention as the other arm received the same treatment, just as slowly, strong muscles gleaming with water. It made Shelly think of one of those bronze statues, perfectly sculpted, gleaming in the sunlight. 

 

He had to swallow hard when the hand came back, this time over Seaplane’s lower back, moving in slow circular motions down the spine, and then disappearing beneath the water. Shelly tried really hard not to think of where that hand was and what it was doing, but he still trembled with a need he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until then. Why did Seaplane have to be so attractive? It made it really hard to ignore the looks the younger man was giving him. But Shelly did his best; he was too old, too fat, too  _ him _ to really be interesting. He was just another conquest, desirable because he resisted. There was no other explanation.

 

Just as he was about to turn and leave, he got distracted by the way Seaplane’s back moved, sinuous and almost inviting, as he raised both hands, starting to wash his hair. The muscles in his back rippled, water cascading down bronzed skin, making Shelly’s mouth go dry and his body ache with hunger. His fingers twitched with the need to touch.  

 

It took him a few dazed moments, during which he almost reached out for the vision in front of him, for Shelly to realize that Seaplane was, in fact, singing. He didn’t recognize the song, but he heard the lyrics well enough, and they made him turn pink and his ears burn.

_ “...and starting today, all I wanna be is his man…” _

There was absolutely no way in the world that those words could be directed at him. Because that was impossible. But still, Shelly’s traitorous heart skipped a beat over the tiny, tiny chance that it might be.

 

Shelly watched with bated breath as Jefferson turned with the same agonizing slowness that he had washed and started to wade out of the water. He truly was gorgeous, his stomach flat and toned, his arms just accentuated enough to make Shelly breathless, but not at all like Smolder’s bulk. Water still glimmered on his skin like a thousand diamonds, and it was impossible to look away.

More and more of his body was revealed as he moved, first slender hips, firm thighs, strong legs. Shelly did everything in his power to keep from looking at what lay between those firm thighs, but his eyes were drawn there anyway, and he forgot to breathe. Jefferson’s cock was about average length, he assumed, and the mere sight of it made him want to fall to his knees and worship him like a Greek god stepped down from Mount Olympus. He was so beautiful where he stood, for a moment as still as a statue come to life but not sure how to move his limbs.

 

The water still reached about halfway up his calves, and with a few more steps he was on the shore. He walked over to where he had left his things and picked up a towel that Shelly had not noticed previously. 

With the same slow, measured movements that he had washed, Jefferson began toweling himself off. Every limb received thorough attention, rubbed and dried as if being polished, making skin flush slightly at the roughness of the fabric. Shelly helplessly followed the towel’s path with bated breath, unable to tear his eyes away from legs, thighs, buttocks, sex… he felt humiliated and exhilarated, and he wanted so badly to touch. And at the same time, he wanted to flee the scene, horrified at himself. 

 

He almost whimpered when the towel started working on still wet hair, staring in awe how the muscles in Jefferson’s back moved, trembling as he forced his eyes away from the man’s lower back and swell of his buttocks, but it was nigh on impossible. He wanted to run his tongue down Jefferson’s back, see if the skin tasted the way it looked. Wanted to know what the reaction would be. Would he shiver, moan? Arch his back? Part his thighs? Shelly didn’t know. He wanted to know. He  _ needed _ to know.

 

But he stayed where he was, watching, observing, memorizing every movement, every moment. His body ached with arousal, the throbbing between his legs nearly unbearable. He wanted to flee the scene, wanted to hide in his tent, to find his pleasure with closed eyes, seeing only what he had witnessed here, by the river. But as it was, he stared transfixed as Jefferson leaned down — and dear lord, did that make his ass look even more magnificent, his thighs straining — and picked up his briefs.

 

He dressed in the same languidness as he had done everything else, piece after piece of clothing covering inch by inch of glorious skin, Shelly feeling embarrassingly disappointed as they did so. But there was no way he could stop that from happening without revealing himself. And he would rather die.

 

Eventually, the brown leather jacket the pilot always wore was shrugged over his shoulders, and he stood there, as beautiful as before and almost impossible to resist now that Shelly knew what lay beneath the clothes.

Then he turned, slowly, a smile playing over his lips.

“I like it when you watch me,” he said.


End file.
